


L/A Pegging

by orphan_account



Series: Kingdom Hearts Writing/Drabble Series [1]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Angst, F/M, Het, Pegging, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 14:41:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3329846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Larxene, Axel, and a dildo. NC-17.</p>
            </blockquote>





	L/A Pegging

**Author's Note:**

> Editing some pretty old KH fics and uploading them again. Larxene/Axel, pegging. Quite NC-17.

The air is clammy and hot between their movements. When Larxene’s hipbones brush against the cheeks of Axel’s arse, she can feel their skin stick warmly together. She fucks Axel slowly to the sound of his heavy breathing and quiet moans. It’s disgusting, the way he so openly displays his lust, his need, even if it’s just the two of them. Larxene knows better than to believe the illusory electricity cursing through her veins, makeshift feelings rendering Axel helpless, but not her; never her.

She draws her hips back, slides almost completely out of him—his tightness clings to the metal dildo, trying to suck it back in while simultaneously trying to push it out—and Axel grunts just a little too needfully for her to forgive that. She holds her hips still for a moment, lets the anticipation grow thick between them, lets the tension in his limbs rise with his body temperature. After Axel’s thighs start trembling, Larxene’s mouth curves into a wicked, sharp grin, and she curls her fingers tightly around his prominent hipbones and pushes forward _hard_.

Axel’s choked grunt is too loud in her ears, and her eyes go to half-mast as she watches his white-knuckled grip on the bed sheet.

“Havin’ a little trouble keeping it up down there?” she mocks lowly, fully enjoys the way he has to force himself to look back at her over his shoulder. Oh, the sight is a pretty one—Axel on all fours, arse in the air, the tendons in his neck jutting out bluntly because he grits his teeth so hard. The aesthetics he portrays makes her fingertips tickle with electricity. She reaches forward to slide a hand up his sweaty back, the bumpy ridges of his spine brushing against the balls of her hand. She indulges in the caress for a few seconds and then leans forward to mould her body against his, breasts pressed flat against his back, his sweat hot against her body, his heat a shocking contrast to her coolness. Bringing her lips to his ear, she breathes damply against his shell. His red hair, curly from the sweat and exertion, tickles her nose.

“If you keep gritting your teeth like that, they’re gonna fall out,” she teases, bites his earlobe. Traces the curve of it with the tip of her tongue. Her hands on his hips tighten. “Wouldn’t be a good thing, pretty boy, right?”

The harshness of his breath is unforgiving in the silent room, unwanted proof of his need. When she pets his leg, the fine hairs prickle against her palm. “Try to hold on,” she hisses, “or I’m gonna fuck you so hard.”

The involuntary moan spilling out of his mouth through the barrier of his teeth vibrates along her whole body and something curls tight between her legs, makes her thighs jerk together. The force of the sensation makes her hips stutter forward, and she has to close her eyes against it, biting her lower lip. In the blackness behind her eyelids she sees her own body bent over Axel’s slim, long form, and she sees the disarray of Axel’s hair, his slanted eyes burning liquid in pleasure—she sees the addition from the belt around her hips disappear into Axel’s body, and for a moment, for a single moment, she feels as if it’s her own flesh.

Opening her eyes, it’s only a moment later that she realises her legs are weak and wobbly with the pleasure from the imagination—an imagination he provided. Something stings gravely, deeply inside Larxene’s cavernous chest, and she feels so out of control that a scream is lodged in her throat. Axel is the object—she is the perpetrator. She is the perpetrator drawing pleasure from the aesthetics of her object; his narrow eyes of poison, his distinctive, sharp features, his beautifully sculpted body—broad shoulders, wide chest, narrow waist, rounded arse—and his hands, God, his hands. A real worker’s hands, slim long fingers, the pale blue branching veins, his calluses.

She is the perpetrator because she cannot be out of control. She is, because she cannot express herself any different but this. There is no other way Axel will respond to her but like this.

Fucking Axel is a gratification: pressing her weight against his back, effectively weighing him down with her hand against his neck, pressing his face into bed so his sight is restricted to darkness only. A gratification, that’s what it is, fucking him like she wants to be anywhere but here—aggressively, messily. Hearing his weak grunts, hearing him in abandon, gives her back her sense of control. With each angry thrust, hips moving harshly, she feels it slide black into her body. Her malicious fingertips dance along the surface of his skin—digging her nails into his flesh, cutting easily through its softness—cutting it open. She gives a miniscule twitch with her fingers, nails buried in the red flesh shooting sparks of electricity straight into it, making Axel gasp, his dick twitch, his eyes screw shut in pain against the paralysing lameness dragging itself along the chords of his muscles.

A moment of heavy breathing, Larxene now unmoving and cutting through his skin, electrifying him. A moment of nothing but the laboured breathing of someone in pain...

... in ecstasy.

She lives for this: lives for Axel’s head whipping around to face her, face pale and cheeks smeared with his tears, eyes wild and unfocused. She lives for the sounds Axel makes, his shameless high whine as he begs wordlessly. Her fingers flex against his hips, and she licks her lips in anticipation because she’s finally pushed him over the thin line of control and helplessness.

Axel grips the sheets hard and starts fucking himself roughly on the dildo, pushing and pushing his arse back until Larxene has to let go of him and bend her body back, supporting herself on the heels of her hands against the force of his movements. She feels her lips curve into a grin, loving the feeling of her pelvis bone being jostled with each movement. It’s a beautiful display of the helplessness she’s pushed him into, his eyes wide open in shocked pleasure, his slack jaw. She’s not moving except for the one hand coming up to touch the centre of his back so she can dig her nails into his flesh again. The electricity sits in her fingernails, a threat, and each mindless pattern she draws on his back leaves clear-cut, bloody lines in its wake. She continues to draw her picture against his back, new red wounds against old scars. It’s lucky no one’s here or they’d think Axel would be dying: making sounds no longer distinguishable between pain and pleasure, he groans gutturally as he pushes his arse back in almost spastic movements. She watches, does nothing to accommodate him. She drinks in his beautiful, abandoned state, her eyes greedily fixed on him as he fucks himself raw, as his entire world is whitened out by pain.


End file.
